


Office Hours

by Mix Stitch (Synph)



Category: Wolverine and the X-Men (Comics), X-Men (Comicverse)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, F/M, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-08
Updated: 2014-12-08
Packaged: 2018-03-01 13:07:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2774117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Synph/pseuds/Mix%20Stitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There goes their quiet, intimate lunch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Office Hours

**Author's Note:**

> This is a commission for im-grantaire
> 
> This is set pretty early on in Wolverine and the X-Men v2 and assumes that Quentin and Idie stay together for a bit longer. (I am so full of feelings about this commission. I worked so hard on making it perfect aaah). Major thanks to Fleet and Sisky for the look over!

For once, there aren’t any world-ending catastrophes.

No surprise visits from former students or current foes with a chip on their shoulder and there have only been two minor explosions from Hank’s labs since dawn.

For the first time in a long time, Ororo doesn’t feel the need to look over her shoulder for any purpose beyond making sure that Logan is still watching her as she goes about setting out their lunch.

He looks at her with a warm sort of appreciation plain on his face and Ororo feels her face warm just slightly, just enough that Logan can probably pick up on the scent of her pleased flush.

"It’s nice, not having to go put out fires around the grounds," Ororo says as she passes Logan a takeout container from a pub in the city that they both like to eat from whenever they can sneak away from the school. She grabs her own takeout container and then sits down beside him on a couch that seems to shrink when they’re side by side on the cushions. She doesn’t even try to be subtle, shifting until she’s sitting next to Logan without a bare space between their thighs.

Logan couldn’t look any more pleased with himself.

"You say that now, but I know you," Logan says, smirking. "You’re going to be bored out of your damn mind if the day goes on without an issue." He nudges her with his knee, gentle as anything as she smiles back at him. "Admit it, it’s just not the same if the kids aren’t destroying the school."

Ororo shakes her head. “You’re not entirely wrong,” she winds up admitting eventually. “But when was the last time we were able to have lunch on campus? Usually one of the teachers needs something, or one of the students has blown something up.”

Logan laughs and then steals one of Ororo’s french fries. “Don’t worry about that, ‘Ro,” he says, his voice a deep rumble. “I’m sure Quentin might grant your wish before the day’s out.”

"Don’t you dare say that," Ororo says sharply, reaching out to smack Logan’s forearm with her left hand. "With our luck and his powers, we could be looking at an actual emergency." She scowls for a second and then presses close to Logan. "But truth be told, our students now are — Well, they’ve got good heads on their shoulders."

"Thanks to you," Logan says.

Ororo utters a quiet laugh. When they’re like this, alone for real with the outside world just barely infringing on their privacy, Logan is rarely sweeter. He compliments her as easily as always, but in the sunlit room that Ororo’s claimed as her office, the words are accompanied by a look so tender that Ororo knows that none of their students would believe it’s the real Logan if they saw him.

Ororo squeezes Logan’s arm gently and then pulls back slightly.

"You give me too much credit, Logan," she says. "You taught them too. They’re as much yours as they are mine."

Logan shrugs away the compliment. “Ach, no,” he says, settling back against the couch with a scowl on his fact that Ororo knows to be false. “That makes me sound —”

"Responsible?" Ororo teases, nudging Logan with her shoulder as she reaches out to snag a perfectly crisp and golden onion ring sticking out from underneath the top bun of his burger.  She pops the onion ring into her mouth without waiting for the playful snarl that would normally follow. "Perish the thought."

Settling back against the couch means settling back against Logan, and Ororo relishes that warmth and Logan’s welcoming shift against the plush cushions as she starts in on her own meal.

The companionable silence lasts about as long as Ororo expects it to, halfway through their respective takeaway boxes.

"The last thing I am is responsible," Logan says.

Ororo strokes her fingers over the back of his arm, just shy of his bandages. “Our graduating class would beg to differ.”

Ororo sets her food aside and then turns so that she can face Logan on that little couch. She leans in slowly, drawing the moment out until their mouths are a hairsbreadth apart and one of Logan’s heavy hands curves around the back of one of her arms.

Before they can kiss though —

The door to Ororo’s office slams back against the wall hard enough that the doorknob leaves a dent in the wall behind it and the door itself splinters. They both leap apart, Logan’s claws coming out along with the heavy scent of blood while Ororo readies a spark of lightning. They’re expecting the worst, honestly, but what they get a second later is far from it.

Idie barrels into the room with Broo right on her heels.

"You have to — you have to come downstairs," Idie says, gasping for breath as she skids to a stop. "Armor and Rockslide are trying to make sure that we no longer  _have_  a downstairs. We tried to stop them, but —” Idie manages a shrug. “I don’t think they were listening.”

Ororo frowns. “What are you talking about?”

"They’re wrestling," Idie says. "In the gym."

"Alright, what’s wrong with that?" Logan asks.

Idie scowls, the look on her face withering with its intensity. “They’ve already taken out the bleachers  _and_  one of the walls, but I guess that’s not a big deal.”

Ororo shakes her head. “We’ll be right there.”

There goes their quiet,  _intimate_  lunch.

** Extra **

Idie finds Quentin at their spot on the grounds. She leaps over the back of the couch and lands in his lap, causing him to grunt and the nearly drop all of the cash in his hands.

“So,” Idie says when Quentin stops glaring at her. “How much of your winnings do I get? You know, since I was the one to run upstairs and get Storm?” She reaches out, carding dark brown fingers through the unfairly soft  _pinkness_  of Quentin’s hair until he huffs under his breath and leans into the touch.

“Twenty percent,” Quentin mutters eventually. “Twenty percent and the gift card I got for Midtown Comics.”

Idie scowls. “That’s  _it_?”

“It’s a pretty decent gift card,” Quentin points out.

“I don’t even  _like_  comics,” Idie fires back. “Forty percent and you get someone to deliver actual food out here. I’m tired of only eating cafeteria food.”

Quentin tries to look put out, but Idie knows him. All she has to do is sit and wait and he’ll give in.

“I can hear you thinking about manipulating me,” Quentin points out in a dry tone. He tilts his head back against the couch until he can look into Idie’s eyes, but then he smiles. It’s a brief smile, small but genuine. “You’re lucky I’m tired of the cafeteria food too.”


End file.
